


Start Again (Like it's the Renaissance)

by Allikizme



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Body Swap, Canon Compliant, Modern AU, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28736649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allikizme/pseuds/Allikizme
Summary: Arthur works at a renaissance fair run by his father, a slightly overweight man who really doesn’t have much going for him in life. Arthur has bigger dreams, like teaching mythology and philosophy, or asking out the pretty girl, Gwen, from his uni class. After an accident at the fair, Arthur wakes up, in actual Camelot, as king.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote this fic eons ago, I have 3.5 chapters done and while I'm working on rewriting and finishing my other Merlin fic Mortality I wanted to post this to keep me motivated. Thanks for reading!
> 
> PS Title taken from the musical SIX

The fair was a lively place. Children rushed about in excitement, dragging haggard parents along behind them. They loved the horses, the Merlin magic show, and the petting zoo. But what they really loved was to dress up, and at any of the strategically placed stalls could do so, after their parents purchased the princess dresses and knight swords from the greasy hands of the workers. For the older crowd—generally rowdy, drunken teenage boys with nothing better to do—there was a play, with busty women in scanty clothes. The shabby plot that held it together brought it no dignity. 

Arthur hated it.

He was sick to death of mutton, which was really deep fried ham. He was miserable in his heavy metal crown and cheap, sweltering armor. But he kept smiling and waving, mostly for the kids. When he performed on the children’s stage, he did his best to thrill them. Morgan was never as enthusiastic: she had grown bored of her terrycloth dress, ribbon corset, and pointed princess hat. They had a villain, too; a young man named Mordred who wanted to be an actor. The glamour of being on stage had not yet worn off on him, and he still gave it his all.

To Arthur, the adult stage was much worse. He was careful not to overdo it, always managed to tear his shirt off, and tried not to think about just how much of his sister’s cleavage he was seeing.

At least he was never part of the magic act. The amount of alcohol on Martin’s breath and smoke curling from his mouth was so great it was magic he could even move. They dressed him in purple robes, snapped a beard around his ears, and sent him on stage with the hope that he would not vomit in the middle of his act.

Arthur had talked to his father about replacing Martin, but Uther was stubborn. The man was a brilliant magician and Uther, fat and frugal, was reluctant to pay someone more. He had just ordered some new castle sets and was expecting them any day now.

And so, Arthur was miserable. He sat at the splintered wooden table, in his crown and cape, and tried not to fall asleep. He did the jousting tournament every Saturday, rarely won, and usually retreated in his defeat to read a book in his tent.

The only happiness Arthur had in this misery was school. He could not wait to leave the renaissance fair and become a… a… a something. Something _not_ at a renaissance fair.

He took dozens of different classes at the university, and excelled at just about everything except math and physics. He enjoyed biology, to an extent, and thought business was doable. Above all he loved literature, and philosophy. Mythology was his favorite. He’d read everything from Greek to Norse and back again, and was particularly fond of Arthurian legend.

Arthur was reading Steinbeck’s book on King Arthur one night, at the yellow kitchen table under the low fluorescent light, when Morgan came and sat down beside him.

She was in her pajamas, striped pants and an old shirt from when she did swim team. It still didn’t fit. Crossing her legs, she pulled the bowl of grapes Arthur was somewhat eating over to her and plucked one between her fingers. “So,” she began.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and grunted to show he was listening.

Morgan ate her grape. “It’s Friday.”

At this, Arthur groaned and closed his book. “Do you have to remind me?”

“Yeah, I do,” she replied. She swallowed. “Arthur can I tell you something?”

Arthur folded his arms and leaned back. “Something I can’t tell Dad?” he questioned. When his sister nodded, he shrugged. “Sure, Mor, whatever.”

Morgan took a deep breath, and Arthur braced himself. “I’m seeing Martin.”

Immediately Arthur let out a snort of derision. “Really, Morgan? He’s disgusting.” He paused. “And probably a criminal.”

“Oh, stop, Arthur, no he isn’t. He only looks like that for his costume. He's not actually an old geezer.”

Arthur shrugged. “All right, whatever makes you happy,” he conceded. He really did not care. If Morgan wanted to screw up her life, fine. She was a big girl and could decide things for herself.

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Why are you always so nosy?” Arthur demanded, reaching for his book again. “You have a secret and you tell everyone, and when you don’t you have to know everyone else’s.”

Morgan snatched his book and held it away from him. “Do you even fancy anyone?”

Arthur sneered. “Give that back.” When Morgan was adamant, Arthur sighed in defeat. “Yes, okay, I fancy a girl in my French Literature class, all right?”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know!”

Morgan scrutinized him for a moment before returning his book. “You know, Arthur, you never put yourself out there.”

“Thank you, little sister, for your dating advice.”

“I mean it. And if you don’t start bringing girls home, Dad will think you’re gay.”

Arthur scowled. “What?”

Morgan gaped. “ _Are_ you!?” she cried.

“ _No._ ”

“All right, god, relax,” Morgan stated. She took a fistful of grapes and strode away. “Just saying you should try!”

Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to his book.

Then he remembered it was Friday again and shuddered. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up tomorrow morning and work the fair.

Chewing on his lip, Arthur resolved to stay up as late as he could, and prolong tomorrow as long as possible. Maybe, if he never slept, tomorrow would never come.

* * *

Arthur had not thought it possible, but he was falling asleep on his feet. He was standing in a hot tent, sweating in his stuffy armor, hair sticking to his head, and falling asleep on his feet.

There was a clanging, right in his ear, and Arthur jumped awake. Uther had smacked the side of his helmet. “Wake up,” he demanded, and he thrust a lance into his son’s hand. “Everyone is waiting on you.”

Arthur blinked blearily, momentarily forgetting where he was. “Oh… yeah,” he said. He walked out of the tent, having a little trouble balancing the lance, and struggled aboard his horse, Mary Sue.

Mary Sue was old and brown and a little weak in her front right knee. If anyone wanted to be asleep more than Arthur did, it was her.

“All right,” he murmured, trying not to drop his lance, “here we go, Mary Sue.”

He urged the reluctant horse to the run and waited for the crowd to get a little more excited. Very few cheered. Mostly they fanned themselves and wondered why they didn’t bring umbrellas or even stay home.

Arthur was falling asleep again when the flag boy James waved the flag, and his opponent, the undefeated Sir Percival, charged him. Arthur jolted his horse forward, trying to bring the poor girl to a sprint while he aimed his lance.

To Arthur’s great surprise, Mary Sue picked up speed, more than she’d had in months. Everything became a blur, excepted for Percival charging towards him. Arthur blinked and realized he could win this time. The thought made him smirk under his helmet, and he urged Mary Sue faster.

This was it. Arthur was actually excited about this. _You’re going down, Percy,_ he thought.

Arthur’s lance was about to hit when suddenly Arthur was weightless, and he saw ground, sky, fence, black.

* * *

Arthur was beyond groggy when he woke up. His neck was impossibly stiff, his head ached, and he felt broken. “Ow,” he grunted as he tried to move.

“No no no no Arthur don’t move.”

Arthur was too happy to oblige. “What happened?” he groaned.

“Well, sire, your horse tripped on a root and you flew into a tree.”

“Did I,” Arthur exhaled. He blinked, and suddenly he saw everything. And what he was looking at was not his bed. Nor was it the ceiling of a hospital. In fact, it was nothing familiar at all. “Where am I?”

“Your bed, Arthur.” A hand reached around his back, gingerly lifting him upright. “Now, drink some water, up you go.”

Arthur grunted and reached for the cup, only to stop halfway. He did not recognize the man holding him upright. He stared at him for a long moment, taking in his thin, bony features, until confusion took total control. “Who the hell are you,” Arthur demanded, pleasantly.

The man stared, then laughed. “Very funny, sire, now drink up.”

Warily, Arthur took the cup, which he realized was a goblet, and sipped it. The water tasted weird. Not gross, or tainted, but… less clean. Arthur downed the rest of it and looked back at the other man. “Now, seriously, who are you.”

The man blinked several times. “Arthur, I’m Merlin,” he said, his voice sounding a little panicked.

Arthur paused, staring. “Oh! You’re Martin. You know I’ve never seen you out of costume? So, how’s your magic going?”

Merlin gaped at him. “My… my what?”

“Your act!” Arthur exclaimed. “I mean, I admit I haven’t seen it yet, but I hear you’re good. Even when you’re tossed.”

“Sire, what… what are you talking about?” Merlin said incredulously.

Arthur grinned. “Sire,” he repeated. “Wow, you are really into your character.” Arthur pulled back the blankets and stood up, jumping when his feet hit the cold stone floor. “Are these the new sets, then? If you see my dad, tell him they’re great.” Arthur looked down at himself. “Where is my shirt…?” He glanced about, searching.

Merlin was suddenly in front of him, pushing him back to the bed. “I don’t think you’re fully recovered yet, Arthur. You’re talking nonsense. Go back to sleep.”

“Mate, relax, there isn’t even an audience,” Arthur said, looking at him strangely. He frowned, inspecting the scarf around Merlin’s neck. “Mate, you’re dressed like some peasant! The wizard Merlin should be in extravagant robes, eh?” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, my shirt.”

Merlin was looking extremely panicked. “Okay, um, yes sire,” he said. He went to the wardrobe (a wardrobe! Arthur marveled at the detail) and produced a white tunic. “Do you want me to help you dress?”

Arthur’s brows knit. “What? No, I can dress myself, thanks,” he snapped, and he snatched the shirt from him. So much for being nice to his sister’s boyfriend.

Merlin stared at him while he dressed, which Arthur decided he would bring up to Morgan later. “Um, Arthur,” Merlin began uncertainly, “I think we should see Gaius before you go back to your duties.”

“Who?”

Merlin blinked. “Gaius,” he repeated. “The palace physician?”

“Now who’s talking nonsense,” Arthur grumbled. “Look, mate, you’re really weirding me out. So if you could just, I dunno, leave or something, I’d be a lot happier.”

For some reason, this made Merlin even more confused.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Get out,” he said clearly.

Merlin bowed and hurried away. The chamber door shut heavily behind him.

With the weirdo gone, Arthur took a moment to appreciate this new set. Red curtains, four poster bed, _wardrobe…_ yes, this was very nice. Smiling, Arthur went to the door and left the room.

“Whoa,” he breathed. The set did not end in the room. It went on. Grand archways! Banners! It was like a movie set. Arthur was nothing short of impressed. “How much did Dad pay for all this?” he wondered.

Two men in armor strolled by him, bowing their heads and saying, “Sire,” as they walked. Arthur chuckled and nodded back. This was really amazing, but he wished someone had clued him in beforehand.

“Arthur?”

Arthur looked over and saw, to his utmost surprise, the girl from his French Literature class. He blinked. She hurried over to him, clad in a brilliant red dress, something much more authentic than what Morgan wore. A glorious smile lit up her features and she came to a stop beside him.

Arthur was shocked. “You… you’re in my lit class,” he stated, pointing.

The girl’s smile fell. “Arthur, what are you talking about?” she wondered, forcing a laugh.

“You’re in my French lit class,” Arthur repeated. “With Professor Downs.” When she still looked confused, he said, “We’re reading Victor Hugo.” Then he paused. “Do you… maybe have a twin sister?”

The girl continued to look utterly bewildered.

Arthur cleared his throat, feeling immensely awkward. “Well, um, you know my name then. What’s yours?”

“Gwen!”

She whipped her head around, and Arthur saw Merlin the Weirdo at the end of the hall. He had an old man with long white hair with him. Merlin gestured wildly that Gwen should join them. Gwen obliged, and Arthur followed. If anyone would give him a straight answer, it was probably the old man.

Arthur reached them with his hand out, expecting a handshake. “I’m Arthur,” he introduced, smiling with strain. The man raised an eyebrow. Arthur sighed. “Would someone please tell me where Uther Penn is?”

The old man’s jaw dropped. “You’re right, Merlin,” he stated, inspecting Arthur. “He’s gone mad.”

Arthur frowned. “What? No, I’m not mad.” When their faces did not change, he laughed. “Come on, guys, this joke is really getting old.”

“Arthur, please, be reasonable,” Gwen begged.

“I’m being completely reasonable!” Arthur exclaimed. He felt for his phone, only to discover his pockets were empty. “What have you done with my mobile? Give it here, I’m going to call my father!”

Merlin stepped forward, reaching for him. “Arthur, calm down. Look, I’ll… I’ll bring you some sweet rolls and apples, and—.”

Arthur tore his arm away. “Leave me _alone!_ ” he demanded. “I swear, I’m calling the police.”

“What?” Merlin cried in anguish.

“You’re all going to be very sorry once my father—.”

_Thunk._

Arthur’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed on the stone floor. Gwen gasped at what she had done and knelt beside her husband, setting the heavy jug down on the floor. “Oh God,” she whispered. “Arthur I’m so sorry!” She cradled his head and looked ready to weep.

Merlin dropped down beside her. “It’s all right, Gwen,” he assured her. “I promise. Arthur just… hit his head a little harder than we previously thought.” He paused. “Maybe when he wakes up he’ll be normal again.”

Gwen sighed. “I hope so.”


	2. Chapter 2

This time, when Arthur woke up, the only light came from a fire. He could see the shadows dancing on the walls, and his head ached again something awful.

“And you’re _sure_ he knew of your magic?”

“He talked about it like it was nothing, Gaius. Like he’d known all along.”

“He also thought his father was alive, and didn’t recognize his own wife.” Pause. “Merlin, is there any chance he is bewitched?”

“I haven’t left his side since the accident,” Merlin replied. “No one got past me.”

Arthur lifted a hand to his head, pressing against the throb. Ooh, that was painful. A ringing took over his ears. He groaned.

Suddenly there was a face in his field of vision. “Arthur? Arthur are you all right? Do you know who I am?”

Arthur blinked and scowled. “Yes,” he said slowly, and Merlin’s face lit up with hope. “You’re the creep who wanted to help me dress.”

Merlin glared. “It didn’t work.”

The old man Gaius stood up from a chair by the fire. He waddled over to the bed and folded his hands. “Sire, are you feeling all right?” he queried.

“No, I’m not bloody all right,” Arthur snapped. “This should be obvious by now.”

“Can you tell us your name?”

Arthur stared. “Arthur Bradley Penn,” he stated.

“Just Arthur?” Merlin asked.

“Yes.” Arthur glared. “Just Arthur.”

Merlin shifted his weight and looked upset.

Gaius nodded. “And where do you live?”

“London.” When they looked confused, he rolled his eyes. “England,” he snapped. Still no recognition showed in their eyes, and Arthur slammed his fist on the mattress. “Britain, you idiots! In Europe! Next to Asia!”

“Britain?” Merlin repeated, his expression puzzled. He and Gaius’s eyes met, and they both shrugged.

“Who is your wife?” asked Gaius.

“I don’t _have_ a wife,” Arthur retorted. “Why would I?” He shook his head. “You people have something wrong with you. Please, call me a cab, or at least point me towards London, and leave me alone.”

Merlin chewed on his lip, and unexpectedly sat down on the bed. Arthur instinctively scrambled away. “Tell me, Arthur,” Merlin said, “what do you think of this?” He held out his palm, quite empty, and murmured some nonsense to it. Then his eyes _turned gold_ like something out of a film and suddenly there was an electric blue butterfly sitting in his palm.

Arthur stared. And stared. The butterfly did not do more than twitch its wings. “How… how did you do that?” he asked.

“Magic,” Merlin replied.

“There’s no such thing as magic, now what did you do?”

“No such thing?” Merlin repeated. He looked to Gaius. “This is all wrong.” He scooted off the bed and started talking as if Arthur weren’t in the room. The butterfly fluttered away and rested on a bedpost. “I mean, surely an imposter would know the role better, right?”

“Memory loss does not come with a new set of memories,” Gaius added.

“So what? He hasn’t lost his mind, look at him!” Merlin gestured at Arthur, who waved sarcastically. “There’s nothing wrong with him, except that he’s… not Arthur.”

“Are you going to let me leave yet?” Arthur called.

Merlin occupied the spot at the end of the bed again. “Look, Arthur,” he began hesitantly, “we need you here. You are the king of Camelot.”

Arthur chortled with laughter. “Camelot?” he cried. “ _The_ Camelot? I’m _the_ King Arthur?” He cackled. “Good God, I’m dreaming! I fell asleep reading my book and now I’m dreaming!”

“So you know who you are?”

Arthur shook his head, grabbed Merlin’s arm, and made sure he did not break eye contact. “King Arthur,” he began slowly, “is a fictional character from the fourteenth century. Camelot is not a real place. I am not a king, I am a student. And I am sick and tired of this joke.”

Merlin blinked. His face contorted with contemplation. “Fourteenth… century,” he repeated, thinking hard on these two words. Abruptly he stood up. “What year do you think it is?” he demanded.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Please,” begged Merlin.

“It’s 2013,” Arthur snapped. “God you people are _really_ milking this, aren’t you?”

Merlin and Gaius went inconceivably pale. “Is it possible?” Gaius whispered. He dropped into his chair again, looking petrified.

“But… but you look just like him!” Merlin cried. “You have the same name!” He rushed over to the wardrobe and pulled out a hand mirror. “Right? This is what you look like, yes?”

Arthur gaped. “Yes, of course I look like that you—wait.” He stopped. Narrowed his eyes. Abruptly he snatched the mirror from Merlin’s fingers and stared. “What… what are these scars?” he whispered, touching the white moons on his chest and shoulders.

“From your duels, Arthur,” Merlin informed him.

His fingers lightly traced the bandage on his forehead. “And this?”

“Yesterday, your horse threw you into a tree.”

Trembling, Arthur shook his head. “No, no that’s not what happened,” he mumbled. “There were no trees. I must have hit the fence.” Did that explain the scars? No, these were old. They had healed years ago. Panicking, Arthur tore away the blankets and began untying his trousers.

“What is it, sire?”

“I’m not ‘sire’,” Arthur growled. “And I have a scar on my knee from when Morgan pushed me out of a tree.” He pulled his pants down and stared.

No scar.

Arthur swallowed. He looked up with fear in his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know, Arthur,” Merlin told him quietly.

Panic threatened his composure, and Arthur had to force himself to stay calm. He dropped onto the bed again. “So Camelot is a real place,” he breathed. “And I’m… I’m King Arthur.” He shook his head. “How is that even possible.” Then his eyes fell upon the butterfly on the bedpost, and he seemed to choke on his own saliva. “And that, then,” he said painfully, pointing, “that was real magic?”

Merlin grimaced, but he nodded.

“Oh.” Arthur felt very weak all of a sudden, and spots danced on the outskirts of his vision.

“But you can’t tell anyone!” Merlin warned him. “Magic is illegal. I don’t want to be burnt.”

Arthur pursed his lips and looked up. “The great wizard Merlin,” he began carefully, “is not allowed to have magic.” He shook his head. “The legends are way off.”

Merlin peered at him. “What do the legends say?”

“Merlin,” Gaius warned.

“Oh come on.”

Gaius just raised an eyebrow, and the servant conceded. “Fine.” Merlin folded his arms, looking more than a little upset. “So how do we get back our Arthur then, hm?”

“It has to be some sort of sorcery,” Gaius stated.

“So you can undo it?” Arthur asked.

Merlin and Gaius stared at him.

“I mean, you’re a wizard,” he went on, pointing at Merlin. “Can’t you fix it?”

“I can try,” Merlin replied. “But I’m not very skilled.”

Arthur stared at him. “What do you mean you’re not very skilled?” he cried. “You’re Merlin for God’s sake!”

“I don’t exactly get a lot of time to practice, do I?” Merlin snapped. He sighed. “We’ll start going through the books, see if we can find a way. In the meantime, you’ll have to be King Arthur.”

Arthur blinked. “What? No, no, I can’t be King Arthur!”

“You’ll have to be,” Gaius told him. “We can’t let our enemies know we’re vulnerable.”

Merlin nodded. “I’ll try and arrange for Gwen to handle everything, but for political reasons, you are King Arthur and you are fine, all right?”

Arthur grimaced. He wanted to protest more, but words failed him.

“Good,” Merlin said, taking his silence as consent. “I’ll go let Gwen know what’s going on.”

“I think that’s best,” Gaius agreed. “She can run the kingdom for awhile.”

* * *

King Arthur could hear, out of the din of his dreams, a very strange noise. He had never heard anything like it before.

_Beep… beep… beep…_

What on earth was that?

Blearily, Arthur blinked his eyes open. The white room swam into view. He could see daylight, and another type of window through which a man was apparently speaking to him.

Suddenly a face obstructed his vision. “Arthur, you’re awake!”

Arthur jumped back. “Morgana!” he cried.

“Oh thank goodness,” Uther stated, appearing on Arthur’s other side. “Tell me, son, how do you feel?”

Arthur stared. “Father?”

Uther nodded insistently. “Yes, I am your father. Good. Good. Recognition is good, yes? Hold on a moment, I’ll go fetch the doctor.” He stood and vanished through a large wooden door. “Nurse!”

Morgana grasped his hand, which Arthur now noted had a little clip on the forefinger. “I’m so happy you’re all right,” she said, smiling.

Arthur blinked. “Am I dead?” He glanced around. “Where’s Merlin?” Suddenly his gaze grew dark, and he threw his half-sister’s hand away. “What sort of sorcery have you done to me?” he hissed.

Confused, Morgana laughed. “What?” she said, uncertain. “Arthur, what are you talking about?”

Arthur took a terrified breath, trying to keep from shaking. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Morgana,” he began slowly, “but it will not work. Now let me go.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Morgana looked genuinely distressed, but Arthur was not falling for it.

“I have a dozen loyal knights who will be coming for me,” Arthur went on. “You won’t stand a chance.”

Morgana slowly stood up. “Arthur stop this,” she demanded. “You’re scaring me, do you hear?”

Arthur pulled back the thin sheets and stood with her. “You should be damn scared, Morgana,” he whispered, “because—.” Arthur was cut off with an “oof!” and suddenly he was on the cold ground, staring at the white ceiling.

“Nurse!” Morgana cried, sprinting away.

Arthur looked at his arm. There was a tube in it. That was what had tripped him. Casually, he tore it out.

A spurt of blood came out with it.

Arthur shuddered at the sight. Oh, God, _what_ had Morgana done to him? He threw the infernal thing away and stood up, removing the clip on his finger simultaneously.

“Yes, nurse, he started talking utter nonsense and I just didn’t know what to do,” Morgana was saying outside the door. “He said something about knights, and sorcery, and—hullo, Martin, what are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d check on Arthur,” said a new voice.

“He’s in a right state.” Arthur heard a hand on the doorknob. Instinctively he hid inside the room with the porcelain thing.

“Is he?” the new voice inquired, and Arthur thought he recognized it. “Tell me, what happened again?”

“Horse threw him into a fence,” stated a different voice.

“Ah.”

The door opened, and in strolled a man in green clothes. Morgana, the vile woman, followed him with a look of worry on her features. And behind them both was someone Arthur was relieved to see. “Merlin!” He stepped out from his hiding spot.

Merlin was dressed in the strangest garments Arthur had ever seen. His trousers were blue and thick, and they clung to his legs. The shirt he wore had buttons, was tight-fitting and a deep, crimson red. He had a jacket, black and full of pockets. His shoes had strings on them, and they were bright bright blue.

And for some wild reason, he had an idiotic grin on his face. As well as a _beard._

“Would you mind leaving us alone for a moment?” Merlin murmured, his blue eyes not leaving Arthur.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s wise. I need to call the doctor,” the man in green stated.

“No,” Merlin said, and his eyes. His eyes flashed _gold._ “Leave us.”

The man and Morgana did not protest further. They both straightened up and marched out of the room like dolls.

“What was that?” Arthur snapped. He held the metal rod out like a javelin.

“Magic,” Merlin replied.

Arthur rammed the wheels against the imposter, pinning him to the wall. “Who are you,” he said, “and what have you done with Merlin?”

Not-Merlin coughed as the thing hit his chest. “Christ, I didn’t think you’d react like this! Relax, Arthur. I’m a Druid.”

“You’re not!” Arthur cried, his heart beginning to pound.

“’Fraid so.” Merlin winked. “Think about it, sire, and it’ll start to make sense.”

Arthur’s fury melted into shock as he realized that this was Merlin, _his_ Merlin. Suddenly he felt very weak and woozy. He stumbled back and sat down heavily on the bed. “What.”

Merlin nodded and sat down on the bed beside his king. “Arthur, you may have noticed that this is not Camelot.”

“Then where is it?” he asked weakly.

“London,” Merlin answered. “The year 2013.”

Arthur blinked. He cleared his throat nervously. “Right, I’m obviously dreaming.” Slowly, he laid himself down on the bed again and closed his eyes.

Merlin stared. “What are you doing?”

“If I go to sleep in my dream, I’ll wake up in the real world,” Arthur explained.

“If that works, brilliant, makes my job much easier.”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and repeated _Wake up wake up wake up_ like a mantra to himself. Finally, when he thought it was enough, he opened his eyes.

Merlin was still staring at him. “Did it work?” he asked, his voice sarcastic.

“Oh God,” Arthur moaned. He grabbed his head in agony. “This can’t be real. You’re _Merlin!_ ”

“I am.”

“You said you have magic!”

“I did.”

Arthur stood up and shook his head. “No, no no no no,” he proclaimed. “This is wrong. It’s not real. It’s… it’s sorcery, it has to be!” He looked at Merlin. “Morgana, she—.”

“The woman you saw is not Morgana,” Merlin told him gravely. “She is your sister, Morgan. Well, not yours. But she is innocent and kind and does not have a drop of magic in her.”

“But—,” Arthur protested.

“Morgana is not behind this,” stated Merlin.

Arthur sat down again. He could not believe what was going on. “How did we get here?” he murmured.

“Well,” Merlin began, “I never ‘went’ anywhere.”

Arthur stared. “What do you mean?”

Merlin smiled. “Arthur, I remember this,” he said quietly. “From one thousand years ago. I know what’s happened.”

“…You remember this?”

He nodded.

Arthur blinked in bewilderment. “You… Camelot… that was a thousand years ago.”

“Yes.”

“And you… you’ve been alive that whole time?”

Merlin pursed his lips and fiddled with a button on his jacket. “Arthur, do you know who Emrys is?”

“The one the Druids all talk about?” Arthur said. “Yes, I’ve heard of him. Most powerful sorcerer ever.”

Merlin gave him a look.

Arthur laughed. “Very funny, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugged.

This was too much for Arthur. Words failed him. “You… you’re not… no,” he managed, shaking his head.

“I am,” Merlin told him. “And I’m sorry you have to find out this way. But!” he said enthusiastically. “I’ll be erasing your memory of this eventually so no need to worry.”

Arthur jumped to his feet, rising to a kingly stature. “You wouldn’t dare—.”

“We’re not in Camelot, Arthur,” Merlin told him sternly. “You are not king here.”

The bluntness of his servant’s words made Arthur falter. He suddenly realized that he was terrified. That he was in a strange time and place and his only friend was not his friend, not at all. Merlin was different.

Merlin seemed to realize the gravity of his words and stood up. “Oh, Arthur, no, look, I’m sorry. I just… I’ve been alone for a long, long time. Sorry.” He smiled. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he admitted.

Arthur nodded, only half agreeing.

Abruptly Merlin jumped up. “Right, well, let’s go have some fun.”

“Fun?” Arthur repeated.

Merlin beamed. “Of course! I’m seeing my best friend for the first time in a thousand years! I want to celebrate.” He clapped Arthur on the back. “I’ll find you some clothes.”


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin had looked confused at Arthur’s excitement at going to the library. But, truly, Arthur was thrilled. He loved classics. And how much more classic did it get than fourteenth century literature? Or older?

“We’re looking for something about moving through time,” Merlin told him as he reached for the top shelf. “Probably dealing with faerie magic. They are the only things I can think of with power like that.”

Arthur was already engrossed in a book, fascinated by the handwritten script and regal illustrations. “What?” he said absently.

Merlin shook his head and dropped a stack of books beside him. “Faeries,” he repeated sternly. “Look for faeries and time moving.”

“Mm,” Arthur replied. “Okay.” He wished he had a snack. He always liked a snack when he read. But he felt wrong asking Merlin for anything. The boy was literally a _servant_ to him—or, King Arthur, really. Arthur couldn’t treat anyone like that. Not ever.

A very disturbing thought occurred to Arthur as he abruptly remembered how masters would assert their dominance over their servants. He nearly dropped his book, but didn’t, because books were precious treasures.

Arthur had realized not too long ago that he, at the very least, found men attractive, in part because of the report he had written on the homoerotic subtext in Shakespeare. And Merlin was very devoted to King Arthur. Maybe there was something more there...? Dare he ask? How would someone in this century even react to homosexuality? Maybe he should be reading at homoerotic subtext in Arthurian legend. Could be a good thesis topic...

And Merlin… wasn’t unattractive. Maybe he could get a kiss…? Just some extremely close research is all it would be. 

Arthur grimaced. He ought to be not creepy and leave that alone.

They were at it for several hours. Arthur really didn’t notice and, admittedly, he forgot he was supposed to be looking for something. He’d always had a tendency to get lost in books, and this was so _fascinating._

“Did you find anything?”

Arthur jumped. Merlin was standing next to him, eyebrows high. “Oh, um… no, I guess I didn’t,” he admitted sheepishly.

Merlin sighed. “Well, luckily I did.” He placed the book that was in his hands in Arthur’s. “Men and women for the past half century have been waking up after an injury like yours and claiming to be someone else.”

“Do they ever get back to normal?”

“No, they all went mad,” Merlin informed him. “But one woman, apparently, was obsessed with some stone. It says, ‘a stone of many colors, with gems of bright blue and a light shining within it’. She went through the town yelling, ‘if only I was stronger, I could go home’.” He looked at Arthur. “Does this fit any lore from your time?”

“Any _lore?_ ” Arthur made a face, somewhere between frowning and laughing. “Um, no, I can’t say it does. Anything about a blue box?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t see anything, no, but I can—.”

“No, no, I was—I was kidding. That was a joke.” Arthur regretted saying anything. “Sorry.”

Merlin sighed heavily and dropped into the chair opposite him. “This is beyond me. This is beyond anything I’ve ever heard of.” He let his head rest on his arm. “We need a bigger library. One that Uther didn’t half-destroy during the Great Purge.”

Arthur said, “I’m not terribly worried.”

Merlin lifted his head slightly. “What?”

“I know how the story goes,” Arthur told him. “I’ve read them dozens of times. There’s no _way_ I do all those things King Arthur does. So we must figure this out somehow.” He shrugged. “And, on top of all that, you’re _Merlin._ _The_ Merlin. If anyone can fix this, you can.”

Merlin’s ears turned red at the tips. Arthur swallowed and his mind drifted once again to the possibilities of Merlin and King Arthur’s relationship.

“So, the stories,” Merlin said, breaking Arthur’s daze, “what do they say about me?”

Arthur looked at Merlin’s small smile and had to grin. “They say,” he began, mulling over his words, “that you are a great wizard. The greatest to ever live. And you counseled the knights of the round table for both Arthur and Uther.”

Merlin snorted.

“ _And_ they say you’re ancient, with a long white beard.”

Merlin snickered. “I look like that sometimes, yeah,” he said. “But I advised Uther? _Really?_ ”

“That’s what they say.”

“And what about Arthur?”

Arthur paused, his mind leaping to the king’s tragic death, and he had to hold his tongue. “There’s actually a lot more written about the knights. Like Gawain and Lancelot and such. The Holy Grail and all that.”

“The what?”

“The Holy Grail? Haven’t you done that yet?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, I suppose not.” He paused, clearly debating whether he should ask his next question. “Does… I mean, what about Mordred?”

Arthur tried to act like he hadn’t expected this. “Mordred?” he said.

“Yes. I was told that… he would be the end of Arthur.” Merlin ducked his head and scratched at the back of his neck.

Arthur said, “Don’t worry about him. Doesn’t sound like this Arthur would sleep with Morgana anyways.”

Merlin’s eyes damn near bugged out of his head. “What!?” He roared with laughter.

“Mordred is Arthur and Morgana’s son!” Arthur exclaimed. “Isn’t he?”

“Oh, no no _no,_ ” Merlin laughed. “No _way._ How did they get that one so wrong?”

Arthur laughed too. “It’s what they all say, Merlin. I swear it.”

They laughed and joked for a few minutes when a sharp, clear clanging ran throughout the citadel. Merlin was on his feet at once. “The alarm bell,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”

Merlin took off running and Arthur saw nothing else to do but follow him. “What’s going on!?” he called. Men in chainmail and scarlet capes sprinted by them, holding swords and calling to each other. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin replied. He grinned over his shoulder. “Usually I’m the reason the bell is ringing. It’s weird to be on the other side of this.”

They skidded into a chamber with a great, round table, which only got Arthur’s blood pumping like any good literary nerd.

That is, until the knights showed up and said, “What are your orders, sire?”

That kind of changed his excitement into a cold panic.

 _I am Arthur,_ he told himself. _I am King Arthur. It’s just like the renaissance fair. I just have to play my part._

“W-well,” he spluttered, glancing at Merlin for support, “no one has given me any details about the situation at all! I have no idea what we’re dealing with, here, tonight, or—or even what’s going on! So. Tell me. Please.”

“Kings don’t say please,” Merlin murmured.

Arthur winced. To cover the blunder he put his hands on his hips and stared at the knights as kingly-ly as he could.

One with curly hair stepped forward. “One of the patrol guards saw the door to the treasury was open, and someone heading down the left wing. When he hailed them to stop, they fled. It could have been Morgana, sire. We are combing the grounds and the town.”

“Good, good, excellent start, Sir—.” Arthur realized he did not know the knight’s name and fumbled for a cover. “Sir knight.” Yes. Good. People said that, right? “So, um…”

Merlin cleared his throat. “Has the treasury been accounted for?”

“Yes, I was just about to say that. Have we checked the inventory for the treasury?” Arthur said.

“We will rouse the treasurer and give him two knights to see that nothing is missing,” the curly knight replied.

“Great.” Arthur hoped the squeak in his voice was just in his head. “Now, um. Continue searching the village. And get a description from that guard of what he saw. I don’t want whoever it is to… escape because we’re too busy looking for Morgan. I mean, Morgana.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Good. Um. Dismissed.”

The knights bowed swiftly and exited the room. Arthur let out a long breath and turned to Merlin. “How did I do?”

“Could have gone worse.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“I need to get to Gaius and see if anything magical happened.”

“How’s that?” Arthur asked, following him. “Has he got a magic detector?”

“What? No, we just… do research.”

“Oh. I like research, I’m coming with.”

* * *

King Arthur of Camelot was very, _very_ lost.

Every building here was the size of a castle. There were more people than he had ever seen in his life walking about wearing things he could hardly comprehend. Some people were talking, but to no one visible. This bothered absolutely nobody.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, “where are we going?”

“Oh, I thought we’d go to a pub.” Merlin glanced at him. “Er, tavern. You won’t believe what food is like now. Chips. My god, we’re going to eat chips, and oh, chocolate, definitely chocolate. Oh! Ice cream. Arthur, I’m going to give you a lot of food and I need you to at least try it all, no matter how weird it is, all right?”

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm, halting them in the midst of the crowd. The people walked around them, like they were an inconvenience, like a stone in a river’s path. “What’s going on,” he said quietly. “I’m. I’m terrified, Merlin. Why am I here? Why are you here? Can’t we go home?”

Merlin stared at him for a moment, and then he took Arthur’s arm and pulled him into a hug. A real, squeezing, desperate hug. Desperate for Arthur, at least. He felt like he was clinging to a rock while waves crashed around him.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he murmured. “I’ve missed you. So much. But I promise I’m not being selfish. I can’t send you back. When I fixed this a thousand years ago, the stone was destroyed. We have to wait for our past selves to figure it out.” He pulled back and smiled. “Come on. I promise ice cream is going to make this all worth it.”

* * *

Merlin led Arthur into a “pub”, which was a tavern except there were windows showing tiny men in bright colors kicking a ball around.

They sat at a table, with cushions that were somehow sticky and dry at the same time. His legs, clad in these… shorts, Merlin had called them, stuck to the material.

“Here,” Merlin said, handing him a bit of parchment, but it was hard, and smooth, and shiny in the strange light source that hovered over them. Arthur looked away from the glow to the parchment, and found he could not comprehend even one word.

Arthur dropped it on the table and decided to pray instead, which was the only useful thing he could think to do at this moment.

“Arthur?”

Arthur opened his eyes. Merlin was peering at him with concern. “How about I order for you?” he offered.

“Sure,” Arthur said. “Lovely. Whatever.”

A man came up to the table and asked them what they wanted. Merlin said words and pointed at the shiny parchment. They seemed to know one another. The man asked what they wanted to drink.

“The strongest ale they have,” Arthur said, keeping his voice low in case ale no longer existed, or something.

The man looked puzzled, so Merlin laughed it off. “Two Guinesses.”

After he left, Arthur chewed on his lip and stared at the grooves in the table. He had realized the wood was not like normal wood, or at least, unlike any wood he had ever seen.

“So!” Merlin said. “What’s on your mind, Arthur?”

Arthur frowned. “Well,” he said, keeping his voice painfully even, “a lot. Like. Let’s see. Why is there magic everywhere? Do the Druids kill us all? A _thousand_ years? It can’t be. The air smells different. Why does it smell different? What _happened?_ ”

Merlin grimaced. “Hm. Well. Um. There’s not… magic. In fact, people today don’t believe magic is real. They have electricity, which is—well, it doesn’t matter, you won’t remember this anyway. The Druids don’t kill you. They kind of end up integrating and then, well, magic dies out on its own. I guess it’s not a thousand years. It’s like, eight hundred and fifty, ish. And the air smells different because of pollution.”

Arthur leans forward. “So you’ve outlived all of us. How do I die?”

Merlin coughed. “I. I can’t tell you that!”

“Was it murder?”

“Dear god, Arthur.”

“I’m not gonna remember this anyway, am I?”

Merlin scowled. “Mordred kills you.”

“Mordred?” Arthur said. “That little kid?”

“He grows up,” Merlin said. “You make him a knight. He betrays you and kills you on the battlefield. And you die very, very slowly.”

Arthur sat back in the strange seat. “Oh,” he said, because what on earth else could he say?

“Yeah, well, you asked.” Merlin sighed. “Don’t think on it—.”

“Slowly as in, painfully? What happens to Gwen? Do we have any children? How old will I be?”

Merlin sighed again, this time heavy as an anvil. “I’m not going to tell you all that. Look.” The server was coming back, bearing two tall glasses and a basket of something yellow. “Chips. Here, try it, I promise, one bite of this and you will forget that you’re king of Camelot and stuck in London for awhile.”

Arthur did not want to eat chips. He wanted to ask questions. What had Merlin been doing for a thousand years? What were those little men in the window? What was that man over there wearing on his face? Is Gwen all right? Instead, he leaned forward, and took a little golden chip between his thumb and forefinger. It was hot. He put it in his mouth.

And well, it really was as good as Merlin had said it would be.


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin had determined that they needed to go to where Arthur had had his initial injury, so they were on horseback, moseying through the woods in the early morning light. Whoever had broken into the treasury hadn’t been found, and Merlin said if they were going to cause any harm they would certainly show up, so they left the palace and headed into the woods.

Arthur’s horse was a kingly stallion, a pure white coat and long silver mane. The beast was much more energetic and spry than Mary Sue, who would let just about anything ride her. No, this steed was one that had to be earned. And Arthur wasn’t sure if he was earning it this morning.

“Merlin,” he said, as the horse pulled against the reigns yet again and tried to wander off the path, “are you sure that, well, we can’t walk there?”

“Keep your eyes open, sire,” he called, either not hearing him or ignoring him altogether. “The stone is blue, with stripes.”

Arthur said, “You know I didn’t sleep a wink in that awful bed? What on earth is it made of? I prefer a firm mattress.”

“You sure you’re not the king?” Merlin called. “Because only the king would whine this much.”

“Oh, so you’re a comedian.” Arthur yanked a little too hard on the horse’s reigns and then felt guilty about it.

Merlin brought his horse to a halt, and Arthur struggled to do the same. “This is where you fell,” he stated.

“Is this the horse that threw me?” Arthur asked in a dead tone.

Merlin grinned and dismounted. “Certainly. Get down and help me look.”

Arthur’s foot got a little stuck in the stirrup but he managed to dismount without too much trouble. “Do you want to know the worst thing about being stuck in the past?” he said. “No mobile. Sure, no one really texted me except for Garrett and my sister, but honestly, I miss having it as an option. Now when I have nothing to do I have to actually just do nothing.” He squatted to get a better look at the rocks, but they all seemed quite like normal rocks to him. “Do you think I could take a rock back with me?” he said. “If I did, and we tested it, how old would it be?”

“Arthur…”

“Right, the rock, I’m looking.”

They turned rocks over for what felt like hours. Arthur held up another slightly striped stone without even turning around. “Is this it?” he called, exhausted.

Merlin walked over and touched it. “Nope. Nothing magical there.” He sighed and sat down on the forest floor. “I didn’t expect to find it right away but, well, I was expecting to find it.”

Arthur sat down beside him. “Before I go back, can you show me some maps of where we are? I’d like to come explore this site when I get back to my real time. No one in the future knows where Camelot might be!”

“Why not,” said Merlin. “Where else could this stone be, if not here where you fell?”

Arthur said, “Maybe it’s where I fell.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Arthur where do you think—.”

“No, I mean—me. Where _I_ fell.”

Merlin stared at him. “You mean the stone is at the same place where you fell in the future, except… here in our time… Did you see the stone when you fell?”

“No, but I didn’t see a lot when I fell.”

Merlin frowned. “I mean that just seems needlessly complicated. And, frankly, it’s all needlessly complicated. Why would someone who looks just like Arthur happen to even exist in nine hundred years, and then get magically swapped across time? I mean, were your parents the same people as Arthur’s? Do we all just… repeat? Until the end of time?”

Arthur slung an arm around Merlin. “Maybe I am, in fact, the once and future king.”

“Where did you hear that?” Merlin’s tone was almost accusatory.

“It’s a phrase the comes up a lot in Arthurian legend. But I was only joking. That’d be silly.”

Merlin was giving him a most un-silly look, however, and Arthur started to feel like it maybe wasn’t a joke. He said, “I’d better not get back to the future and find out I’m king of England.”

“Maybe Arthur being in the future is the once and future part,” Merlin said. He puffed his cheeks and got to his feet. “Anyway. If we don’t find that stone he’s going to stay in the future, which I don’t want. So, let’s look around once more.”

They got back to fruitlessly turning over stones, and the sun began to set on their endeavor, and Arthur’s ability to hold his pee. He had been holding it all day, because he really didn’t like peeing outside (although the chamber pot wasn’t a great alternative). But finally, he could stand it no more and straightened up. “I’m going to go, uh. I’ll be right back.”

Merlin said, “Don’t go too far,” without looking up from his work.

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, because like, these were woods, and not like people go camping here woods, but like real, savage, medieval woods. There could be all sorts of Harry Potter monsters out here. Not to mention it was getting dark.

However, Arthur could no more pee outside than pee where Merlin could potentially see or hear him, so… he might’ve gone a bit farther than he should have. This was further evidenced when Arthur got started, and a few seconds in heard some leaves rustle.

Heartrate starting to pick up, he peed as fast as he could, which was still entirely too long. Finally, he finished, fumbled with the fact that these trousers had fucking _strings_ to tie, turned around and—

And saw his sister.

Well, she certainly _looked_ like his sister, if his sister had been dragged through the bushes on her way to a Halloween party. And that look on her face, somewhere between “tell dad and I’ll kill you” and “no I’m not scared shut up.”

“Morgan?” he said, because what else could he say.

“Arthur,” she replied, her voice dripping venom. “What strange luck I should have this night.”

“Wha—?” Before he could really finish the word, she waved her hand and said something strange and, well, he fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin had to show Arthur how toilets worked, which was embarrassing and also a bit traumatizing. Did they need to be so loud? Not to mention those machines that replaced a bloody towel with which to dry one’s hands. He came out of the toilets much less confident than before.

To his horror, Merlin was not on the stool he had left him. His panic levels shot through the ceiling, but then he glimpsed Merlin through the window and hurried out to join him.

“What are you doing out here?” He hoped he didn’t sound too strangled with fear.

Merlin held something thin and white to his mouth, and then breathed out a gray cloud. “Just having a smoke.”

Arthur coughed, his eyes watering. It burned his throat just to smell it. “That’s absolutely vile.”

“Sure it is,” Merlin said. “But, like everything else, it hasn’t killed me yet. So I keep trying.”

His words shook Arthur even more than the hand dryer had. Merlin didn’t sound anything like he was used to. He sounded pained, miserable, bitter. Was this what his dear friend had become? It broke his heart.

While Arthur tried to find a response to that, Merlin put out the end of the awful-smelling thing in a tray of sand that seemed meant for it. “I’ll go pay. Don’t move.”

Arthur didn’t think he could have, really. Without Merlin around, just _being_ in this place was overwhelming. There were so many people, he could see them on the main street they had come from. There was so much noise. The air was thick with a bad taste. Without Merlin there to keep him afloat, he would just start to drown.

Merlin’s reappearance made Arthur jump about a foot in the air, but Merlin, ever the good manservant, graciously ignored this. “Would you believe that I’ve been planning what we would do when you came for like, at least five centuries? And now you’re here and I just don’t know where to start.”

“I think chips were a good start,” Arthur said. He felt more like himself just walking in step with his friend. “You said they fry them in oil? I should have the cook at Camelot do that.”

“Ah, but you don’t have potatoes. Not until the Spanish conquer South America.”

“I’m going to pretend I know what all of those are.” Arthur smiled, but only a moment. “Merlin, have you really been alone all this time? Just… waiting for me to come back?”

Merlin shrugged and grimaced like he’d definitely broken a plate and didn’t want to admit it. “I’ve done other things. I’ve had great romances. I have a lot of children, and grandchildren, and great grandchildren. Sometimes I go check on them, pretend I’m a cousin or whatever. I tried advising great leaders, might do that again in the future. I was a magician for awhile, too. Did you know, eventually mortals started to enjoy magic as entertainment? I was very popular, so much that I had to fake my death, otherwise they’d never leave me alone. And I’ve traveled everywhere. What’s nice is that, by the time I’ve seen everything, they’ve gone and built new things! So I never run out of things to see.” Suddenly, Merlin stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. “Arthur, my god, people have been to the moon. They’ve gone up and walked on it.”

Arthur blinked at him. “You can’t go to the moon, that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not. They’ve done it.”

Arthur shook his head. “Impossible. Next you’ll tell me they’ve swam on the sun.”

“I mean it. I’ve even held a rock from the moon. We could go do that, if you like.”

“Do they glow white?”

“Er. No.” 

“Well.” Arthur scowled, pretending it didn’t affect him so. “That’s disappointing.” Suddenly, something began buzzing in Arthur’s pocket. He screamed and hurled the thing onto the hard ground. It clattered, causing people to stare. “Merlin,” he whispered, because he could feel the eyes of everyone upon him, “there was. Some sort of insect, or, magic, in my trousers and it… attacked me.”

Merlin easily scooped up the offending thing. “Aw, you’ve cracked the screen. Other Arthur will not be happy when he gets back.” He whispered something to it, and his eyes flashed just for a second. “Good as new.”

Arthur stared at it. “What is it.”

“It’s a phone. A mobile. You can speak to anyone in the world on it, no matter how far away.”

“And it—vibrated like that because—?”

“Someone called you. Your father, actually.”

The shiny black slab resting in Merlin’s palm now seemed to glow with temptation. The mass of people began moving around them like a river around stones. “My… my father Uther?” He pulled his eyes away to look at Merlin’s. “Is it really him? My father is alive here?”

Merlin made an uncomfortable gesture. “Not entirely. You saw him in the hospital, remember?”

“I’d thought I was dead, at that moment.”

“Do you… do you want to call him back?”

Arthur nodded. Merlin tapped on the black face and it lit up. Tap tap tap and then Merlin put it to his ear. “Hold it, and speak normally.”

“It’s making a strange sound.”

“It’s ringing. When he says hello, you can speak to him.”

It rang, and rang, and then he heard it. His father’s voice, clear as a bell. “ _Hello?_ ”

“Father,” Arthur said. He couldn’t believe it. His legs felt weak, and Merlin must have noticed because he pulled him over to a shiny green bench and sat him down.

“ _Arthur, where are you? You haven’t been home. The nurse said you were fine but Morgan and I have been worried._ ”

“I… I can come home,” he said, and Merlin nodded.

“ _We’re at the fair. It’s Sunday, you know, and we’re packed. Are you feeling up to a little sword fight? I’ll tell Gavin and Percy to go easy on you._ ”

Oh, thank god. Finally something he was familiar with. “Yes I’m up for it. I’ll be there, um, soon.”

“ _Wonderful. I’m glad you’re feeling all right._ ”

They said goodbye, and Arthur gave the mobile back to Merlin. He said, “It sounds just like him. But… he says things he would never say.”

Merlin let him absorb that, then said, “So shall we head to the fair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to include the next part in this chapter, but i realized i wasn't sure about where it was going, and it was getting long, so i decided to give you another short update and hopefully have another week or so on the next part. thanks for reading, please leave a comment with your thoughts!


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